A Gentleman's Tale
by PocketHero
Summary: So there was silence. It tickled his pale skin, not in a friendly way. It glistened in the shadows of the cobble road, hiding in cracks from moonlight.Pinpricked pupils darted about the street. Searching. For something he could never find. Because there was nothing. There was ALWAYS nothing. Nothing except the uneven stone streets; riddled with empty fears. Nothing. An Arthur Story


**A Gentleman's Tale  **_. An **Arthur Kirkland** story ._

* * *

So there was silence. It tickled his pale skin… not in a friendly way. It glistened in the shadows of the cobble road, hiding in cracks from moonlight. It crept slowly through the soles of his worn leather boots, up the tensed tendons of his meagre frame; causing the hairs sweeping down the back of his neck to prickle in anxiety. Pinpricked pupils darted about the street. Searching. For something he could never find. Because there was nothing… there was _always_ nothing. Nothing except the uneven stone streets; riddled with empty fears. Nothing except the again apartments crammed together side-by-side like old friends clinging to each other as alcohol faltered their footing. Nothing.

A hot sigh of relief clouded the crisp air. It dispersed as the small man turned his back on the shadows; casting his own long silhouette, "nothing…" he muttered quietly in a thick British accent. Hesitating for a moment to stare at his feet, he furrowed his disproportionately dense eyebrows together. His slender fingers fumbled feebly in his greatcoat pocket; in fact for so long it seemed without purpose. Until a familiar texture satisfied his touch. He pulled a crumpled ticket from his pocket. His last hope. A smile played at the corner of his lips.

Suddenly, a harsh wind blew open his heavy coat causing the man to inhale sharply. He quickly clutched his coat to his chest. The ticket squirmed out of his grasp. His heart stopped momentarily; wrenching as he watched his life drift into the darkness with wide eyes. He uttered a shrill, "no!" The paper ducked and dove against the gust effortlessly escaping his masters frantic hands. The ticket tumbled to the ground and cowered between a large crack in the street as the man captured it in his hands; grazing against the coarse stone, "got you" he murmured hoarsely, stuffing the ticket inside his chest pocket for safer keeping. He could not afford to lose this ticket. It was his last hope.

Pulling himself from the stone he took a quick glance over his shoulder; familiarizing himself with his surroundings. He had come farther down the street than he expected and was unsure of his location. At this moment the moon shied away behind a thick cloud, plunging him and the strange street around him into complete darkness. It were as if he were blind. Turning to where he thought he came the blonde relied on the smells and sounds of his surroundings to lead him to his destination. Unfortunately… the winter had silenced the city and all he could perceive was the moan of the cruel wind disrupting the old houses and apartments. Plus the rush of his own breath. Uncertainly, he began to walk away from the strange area… and into a scent he remembered well.

The burden of his chest lightened when he felt the smell of freshly baked scones intoxicate his nostrils. The little tea shop opposite his apartment baked a batch of scones every Friday night to celebrate the end of the working week. The old couple who owned the shop, with their granddaughter would share the scones with him sometimes. He smiled at this. He remembered when he was asked to take care of their granddaughter. A warmth crept into his chest. He choked a little. No, that was not warmth… that was smoke. An unusually sweet smelling smoke.

Trying not to cough, the man squinted into the night. He recognized the familiar outline of his home… however he didn't recognize the glowing orb outside the tea shop. Opposite his apartment. It appeared as a small beacon at first, but he continued to approach his house warily. The smoke became stronger and he gagged as it swathed in his skull. He brought a hand to cover his nose and mouth to stop inhaling the repulsive odour. The red glow grew. He could feel the icy sting of his doorknob on his fingers when something happened. It moved. The red orb was lowered and thrown to the ground… a sprinkle of what seemed to be embers were being crushed into the street. The light was gone. Quieter than silent, the man slipped through his front door; screwing up his facial expression as he stepped lightly inside. The moon exposed itself. It's ethereal glow illuminated the street. His eyes shot directly to the tea shop.

A slender figure leant on the buildings edge, grinding a roll-your-own cigarette into the cobblestones. Their gazes met. A eerily long smile stretched across the familiar strangers face.

"Arthur"

* * *

"Arthur" his fingers quivered as he carelessly tossed items from around the room into an overused rucksack he used as a child. Brushing the nostalgia away to revisit the paranormal cadence of the visitor's voice crooning from outside his boarded window. Hardly Romeo and Juliet. A prickling fear stimulated every nerve in his body… growing in intensity as his name was called repeatedly. The sound was stifled only slightly by the kind old planks, but the voice resonated with an impeccable clarity in his head, "_Arthur… Arthur… Arthur_" the nauseating smoke polluted his nose once more as the man outside pressed a fresh cigarette to his lips. Arthur retched at the smell again, scrunching his nose and violently pulling out his bedside drawer. The few items he owned rolled to him loyally. A canteen of British whisky smiled up at him like the old friend he never lost. Arthur believed alcohol to be the solution to all life's problems. Perhaps it was because he was a binge drinker on bad days. Which appeared to be a weekly activity. He threw it into the bag, along with two square tins. Earl Grey tea in one. Some foul medication that his numerous doctors _insist_ he take. Arthur never did. It was meant to be smoked in a pipe… which he threw in the bag along with some old matches in case he sees his doctors… not that it would make any difference, " Arrrthuurrr." A well-used copy of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. Yes. A women's book. Arthur liked to think of it as a tutor in the study of female species; it had taught him everything he needed to know about women. Arthur never paid attention to girls until he received a book from Francis - his old college mate. There was a girl once. His swelled brain rested for a moment as he held a soft fabric in his hand; it drooped over his fingers delicately like a fainting maiden. Emily Jones. American. Wife to the patriot's Colonel. Emily the enemy.

"Emily…" he ran a thumb over the golden embroidery of her name. One night. That was all it took for Arthur and Emily to fall desperately in love with each other. One night to satisfy that love. One night to change Arthur's life forever. Recalling the day she left for America with her husband he distinctly remembered the way she cast her large ocean eyes back at him on the docks of the harbour as she stepped onto the boat. His deep forest green eyes prickling with tears. She dropped her handkerchief deliberately for him and from that moment he had treated that fabric as if it were from Jesus himself. He turned the fabric over in his hand, catching a glimpse of the name she had scribbled on the back in pen, "Peter…" his voice nothing more than a whisper. As if he were afraid of shattering the name that hung thinly in the air like a snowflake. Emily placed her hands anxiously on her stomach as she looked back at Arthur; now standing alone on the dock, watching the love of his life disappear into the Thames' early morning fog.

"ARTHUR!" A bullet ricocheted off the window panel; grazing the wood. The man's patience was growing dangerously thin dangerously fast.

Arthur folded the handkerchief as carefully as possible before pushing it deep into his chest pocket for safe keeping. Tying the bag quickly closed another bullet found its way through the wood. Arthur ducked for his floppy tweed hat throwing the bag over his shoulder roughly. He barged through his door and took flight down the stairs staring at his feet so he won't trip.

Leaning against the back door to his apartment, he took one last melancholic glance around the rotting hole he called home. Then quietly slipping into the backstreets of London.

Arthur could hear the gunshots continue to ring over the sullen sky as he carefully pulled the door to a close. The man's voice was becoming even more distorted by the second. Grainy with fury. Adjusting the bag on his trembling back he tip-toed through the alley ways, hairline cracks in the prominence that was London. No one knew these streets as well as Arthur Kirkland. Running from dragons and trolls, chasing pixies and flying rabbits through these streets as a child etched them into his memory as embellishments engraved into stone. He knew his way around. His mind churned with thoughts as he ran his numb fingers across the walls he had grown accustomed to, "why is he here…" he peered down at his shoes, dirtying themselves in the occasional mud puddle, "why did he come now?" he carelessly slunk around another corner, following an invisible ball of string his eight year old self left behind, "I knew someone would try to stop me…but not him…" he exhaled sharply into his jacket collar, shivering at the notion of the man who sought him. Arthur felt a small hate fire burning at the bottom of his chest, "why can't that git just leave me alone!" he snarled. This was most certainly not the first time they had met. In fact there had been many _many_ times before this. They had first met just after the American Revolution. Before Emily and Peter.

The image remained fresh in his head. Arthur had woken up in a hospital bed, back in England after he was thrown into a two month coma; leading most of his surviving comrades to think he was deceased. Through his blurred vision all he could see was him. That stupid freckled face with the most idiotic of grins; which stretched from ear to ear like an elastic band. His incandescent eyes could have pierced Arthur's soul with their icy blue hue. His slender fingers firmly folded around the edge of the bed opposite Arthur. He was a sickly splash of colour in his pallid environment. Sickly in a pink jersey and blue bow tie way. Most hospital rooms were supposed to be private. Arthur looked up at the nurse; who acted as if this marshmallow of a man did not exist. He looked back at the man who still had not averted his gaze, "You're Arthur Kirkland" he giggled finally, barely moving his lips. Arthur nodded weakly, "how-" the nurse smiled down at him abruptly, noticing he was awake.

"Oh! You are awake! Don't worry, you were brought here by the medical team. There is nothing to worry about-"

"W-who are you?" Arthur directed the question at the man who was laughing at the nurse's apparent arrogance. His voice was hoarse from dehydration and inflammation. The man ceased his manic laughter. His expression dropped faster than lightening. The nurse replied but Arthur did not care about anything she had to say, he was fixated on this increasingly peculiar man, "me?" he chuckled darkly, "you want to know who **I** am?" Arthur's jaw clenched slightly. The man tilted his head upwards, looking down his nose at him. A smirk grew on his soft lips, "my name is Oliver… I'll be staying with you for a while Artie."

That is how Arthur met Oliver. Their strange friendship began to grow as weeks turned into months. Arthur didn't mind the extra company, he didn't cause much trouble. He had his tea the same way as Arthur, he liked to read the same things as Arthur, he didn't cause much trouble… or so he thought. They were sat at a small café one Sunday morning ordering a pot of tea for two. The woman smiled kindly after Arthur ordered, "tea for two, so do you have a lady friend who will be joining you?" Arthur and Oliver frowned. "No… it's just me and my friend here actually" he smiled back taking the change from the woman. She gave the two an odd sideways glance. This concerned him. She looked almost… uneasy. Taking the change to their table the two men sat down. Arthur was vexed by this reaction. They were just two friends sharing a pot of Earl Grey to save money… what was so wrong about that? Of course Oliver had an odd dress sense, but was that enough for someone to appear concerned? Arthur pursed his lips, "What's up Artie?" Oliver grinned, playing with the sugar cubes on the table. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Artie!" he sighed exasperatedly. Oliver shrugged and placed a whole sugar cube on his tongue, "foul creature…" he grumbled. Arthur noticed a man reading the newspaper at the table next to them who shuffled nervously as he peered over his paper at them; quickly returning his gaze to the words. Arthur furrowed his thick brows, "Arthur, look at me." He looked over at the cashier again to see the woman snapping her head back to her dish cleaning. Why were they looking at them? "Arthur! You're not looking!" as Arthur looked around the room he saw people staring and turning away from him. Why were they staring, "ARTHUR!"

"What!?" He almost yelled out of frustration. The café fell silent, "sorry… what Oliver?" Oliver grinned, showing a disgusting amount of sugars cubes in his mouth, "oh… that really is foul… will you stop acting like a child… people are looking" he whispered, lowering his head. Oliver stopped. He peered around the café and then quickly covered his face with the menu, "oh bollocks!" he grumbled obscenities under his breath. "What? What's going on Oliver? Do you know why we are suddenly the centre of attention!?" Arthur stared at Oliver's cowering position the wheels in his brain slowly clicking into realisation. His eyes widened, "what… what did you do Oliver…" the café's occupants were now becoming extremely unnerved by all this strange ruckus, "n-nothing!" Arthur didn't believe a word of it. "Oliver what did you do!" Oliver's lip quivered lightly, but Arthur's tolerance was at an all-time low, "tell me now!" An old woman in the café began to quiver in fear as Arthur began to shout. Oliver whimpered, "Alright! Alright! I stole a few things last week to pay for our food but then the guy I stole from followed me and tried to kill me… so I dealt with him… then his friends too…" Arthur froze, "I would be sorry… if they hadn't tried to threaten you too." He gripped the edges of the table for support, "O-Oliver… you're a… a m-murderer…" he tried to whisper as quietly as was physically possible. Oliver nodded weakly, peering up at his elder with large eyes. Arthur was breathless. His face drained of its colour. "E-excuse me sir?" Arthur shot back to reality as warmth tingled on his shoulder. The cashier frowned at him, "is everything alright here?" trying his hardest to keep onto his sanity Arthur uttered a broken smile. "Yes, of course why would it not be?" his fingers began to tremble. The woman frowned at him, "okay, because you are frightening my customers… sir" she gestured to the room of wide-eyed and pale faced people who had their eye glued onto Arthur and Oliver. Arthur looked down at Oliver who could see he was breaking down slowly he shook his head at Arthur, "no… don't you dare" he looked up at the woman petrified, "Arthur I swear to god if you even utter a word to her you bastard I'll break your god damn neck like a twig…" He couldn't take it. Arthur leapt up out of his seat and pointed at the strawberry blonde, "He's a murderer! Quickly get out while you can!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. The customers shrieked and hid under their chairs and tables, hot beverages and food flew across the café. Oliver leapt up from his seat and lunged at him viciously. Arthur was tackled to the ground, "I told you not to tell didn't I! I trusted you! I trusted you git!" The polished floor slipped underneath Arthur as he scrambled futilely beneath his roommate's unearthly strength. "Get off me you crazy murdering bastard!" Oliver delivered a punch to his prey's face, causing his lip to bleed. The customers in the café ran out into the street as the cashier tried desperately to pull Arthur from the ground, "No! Get that mad prick away from me!" The woman tumbled to the floor and began to wail wildly. Oliver dived for his throat clutching it with hideous strength, "you'll pay for this! With your life! Now I'm out I don't need to hide it any more right!?" he chuckled manically feeling Arthur's pulse becoming fainter beneath his soft skin. Arthur writhed in his grip. He heard someone outside yell for the police, Oliver snarled, "bollocks! Unfortunately it will be another time then…" before the police could barge in, Oliver rolled over onto his back with Arthur on top and started screaming, "help! He's going to kill me! He's a killer!" Arthur couldn't believe his ears. Oliver was accusing him of murder. Before he could protest he was out cold.

Without noticing, the pace at which Arthur was walking quickened into a brisk walk. He had not been paying attention to where his feet were taking him but he had enough. Enough of the fear. Enough of the something that was always nothing. Enough of Oliver. Tears stung his eyes as he trekked head onto the wind as it weaselled its way through the alleys. The faint lap of waves could be heard in the distance. A grin spread across his face as he recognized this sound. His heart skipped a beat, "almost there…" he sped into a jog down the tight gaps, chilly air nipping at his nose and cheeks. Once he arrives there will be no more sleepless nights, no more running and no more hiding. Arthur stopped and looked down the last alley, he could hear his heart beating in his ears. A silent joy over threw him, "I'm here!" He sprinted down the last alley, he could feel the salty air tossing his blonde hair and swathing in his nose like a bittersweet drug. He could now see the murky waters lapping against the ship, caressing the hull with its icy fingers. It was a sight for sore eyes. Arthur's legs felt numb as he darted for the ship will all his might, his cheeks burning from grinning too much. But then he felt it. The rush of wind behind him. He dare not look back and reacquaint himself with the memory he swore he'd leave behind. Nothing could stop him now.

So there was silence. It tickled his pale skin… not in a friendly way. It glistened in the shadows of the cobble road, hiding in cracks from moonlight. It crept slowly through the soles of his worn leather boots, up the limp tendons of his meagre frame; causing the hairs sweeping down the back of his neck to prickle in anxiety. Pinpricked pupils became stationary and dilated. A hot sigh of relief clouded the crisp air. It dispersed as the small man fell backwards into the shadows; destroying his own long silhouette, "nothing…" he muttered quietly in a thick British accent. Lying limp on the stones his forest green eyes stared up at the thin man standing between him and his last hope. The thin man clutching a used knife. He glared down at him blankly, "give me the tin…now" Arthur exhaled before rolling onto his stomach groggily and onto his open wound. It stung against the filthy arctic street. Gritting his teeth he weakly reached inside the leather bag his fingers quaking weakly. He felt the tin beneath his fingertips. Pulling it out he held it up to Oliver who snatched it out of his palm. Snorting in disregard he popped open the lid and took a deep breath inwards; smelling the crushed leaves. He chuckled madly before putting the lid back on and glowered down at Arthur who held his wound desperately. This gave Oliver a warm happy feeling in his chest, "and now to put the cherry on top…" he giggled, "watch this jerk" he smirked dirtily with pleasure before turning his back on Arthur and tossing the tin into the river Thames with a small grunt. Arthur watched nonchalantly as the tin glinted in the moonlight as it tumbled into the water, "you think you can get away from me that easily?" Oliver stretched and sighed contentedly, "really Artie… you really are a stupid bastard aren't you?" Arthur took a side glance into his leather bag. "W-why did you throw it away? I don't understand?" he coughed into the ground raising his bloodshot gaze to Oliver who leant against the alley's entrance. "Really? Are you even serious right now?" he snarled, "that was your medication… you know? I was there when they gave it to you remember jerk?" he giggled turning to look at the moonlit Thames, "of course you don't remember… you were subdued several times for being a murderous madman…then…ah yes I remember now" he paused momentarily for the memory of his foe being strapped to a hospital bed to fill his twisted heart with bliss. The way he squealed and cried as the electric pulsed through his body like a live cable was the most salacious of symphonies. "Now you can never leave me… Arthur Kirkland" he smiled quietly to himself as the fuzzy feeling filed his stomach, "you'll never be alone again…" Arthur coughed a little more. "Oliver… h-how old are you…" Oliver grunted in annoyance. "The same age as you git, twenty one!" Arthur coughed like a smoker as his chest burned, "I'm not twenty one." Oliver froze. He realized how warm and fuzzy his chest was getting. No, that was not warmth… that was smoke. An unusually sweet smelling smoke. Oliver spun on his heels to see Arthur pressing a pipe to his lips and breathing deeply. His pupils shrunk in complete and utter surprise. A tin lie open on the ground along with a used match, "but I threw it away! I-I threw that into the river and now…what!?" he clutched a clump of his hair in his hands. "I'm twenty five… we met in the hospital four years ago… when I was twenty one, you haven't aged a day since then" Arthur wheezed through the smoke and into his arm, "you don't age." Oliver stumbled backwards and began to babble mindlessly, "N-no! You're wrong! I am twenty five!" Arthur dropped the pipe and pushed himself off the ground weakly. He grunted pulling himself from the stone he took a quick glance over his shoulder. Oliver was hunched over staring at the ground muttering to himself. Using the wall as support Arthur turned to look at the man, "Oliver" he looked up tersely burning his wide-eyed stare into Arthur's paling face, "Oliver Kirkland…" Oliver shook his head from side to side and lunged toward Arthur fiercely, "you're not real."

So there was silence.

Arthur exhaled, reclining against the wall. He tilted his head upwards towards the black sky. A hot sigh of relief clouded the crisp air. It dispersed as the small man smiled softly, the moon intensifying its glittering glow; dispelling the shadows, "nothing…" he muttered quietly in a thick British accent.

"'Ello? Anyone there?" a silhouette wandered off the ship's dock and peered down the street. He caught sight of Arthur leaning against the entrance to an alley way, "Oi! You alright?" The sailor sauntered over to him. "Does she sail to America tonight?" Arthur gestured to the ship. The Sailor tipped his hat, "Aye, she does… you got a ticket then?" Arthur nodded and produced it from inside his chest pocket. The sailor raised his eyebrows as he took it from Arthur to inspect it. The sailor grinned and handed the ticket back to him, "Welcome aboard Field Marshal Kirkland! It'll be an honour sailing with you sir! The youngest Field Marshal in history aye?" He saluted Arthur. Who gave a weak salute back, "is this your baggage sir?" Arthur looked down at the smoking pipe, the brandy, 'Sense and Sensibility' and the tin of medication. "Yes" the sailor knelt down to pick up his scattered belongings, "I'll carry your things to the ship for you sir." Arthur looked down at his stomach. Lifting his hand away there was no trace of blood. He felt a burden lift from his chest, and found himself breathing easier. He chuckled at the sight.

The sound of the soles of his shoes clacking against the gangplank and the deep slur of the river beneath his feet made his smile progress up his face. Finally. He thought. "Pardon me asking sir… but what was it like out there? Y'know… on the battlefield?" the sailor looked up at him like a child to his father. "It's enough to say that I do not want to go there again…" Arthur stepped off the gangplank and shoved his hands in his pockets, "a battlefield like that can reduce a fully grown man into a quivering child…" he wandered up to the ship's bow, "but it's not only what you see _out there_ that can haunt you lad," he stood at the bow of the ship staring out to the end of the Thames and out to sea, "…it's what you bring back with you" The sailor nodded.

So there was silence. It tickled his pale skin… in a pleasant way. It glistened off the obscurities in the murky waters, churning in the deep from moonlight. It tip-toed slowly through the soles of his worn leather boots, up the relaxed tendons of his meagre frame; causing the hairs sweeping down the back of his neck to sway in the chilled sea breeze. Dilated pupils skimmed over the waves. Searching. For something he could never find. Because there was nothing… there had always been nothing. Nothing except the uneven stone streets; riddled with empty fears. Nothing except the again apartments crammed together side-by-side like old friends clinging to each other as alcohol faltered their footing. Nothing. A hot sigh of relief clouded the crisp air. It dispersed as the small man stood facing the stars; casting his own long silhouette, "nothing…" he whispered quietly in a thick British accent.

So there was silence.

* * *

_**Characters**_: England/Iggy: **Arthur Kirkland**, 2P!England: **Oliver Kirkland**, Fem!America: **Emily Jones**, Sealand: **Peter Kirkland**, (small mention of France: **Francis Bonnefoy**)

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **

**Heyyy... I hope you enjoyed this... it's a little longer than I expected it to be... haha...(not funny) So this was supposed to be an English writing excerise but I kind of enjoyed it too much heh. Really sorry about formatting... it's not that great and I tried a different style of dialogue.. so yep. **

**Please tell me what you think! And if you don't understand teh story line here it is: **

**Arthur Kirkland is a schizophrenic Field Marshal (set in American Revolution times - 1700's) who was injured terribly by trauma and physical injuries during the American Revolution** _(the trauma and injuries is what causes the schizophrenia) _**(USUK FEELS!) so he is taken home and put in hospital... when he wakes up he finds Oliver Kirkland **_(2P!England)_** who is actually a figment of Artie's imagination. So he believes Oliver to be real and he becomes reluctant friends with Oliver... a few months later he sees people giving them strange looks which drives Oliver to confess he is a mad murderer. Arthur goes nuts at this secret and loses his mind basically - Oliver who feels betrayed by his friend swears to kill him and make him pay SO Oliver tricks Arthur and gets him taken away by the police to a psychiatric hospital where they give him shock treatment for madness and schizophrenia... this makes Oliver very happy... Arthur recovers from this and is sent home. He is given medication to deal with Oliver who leaves him alone occasionally for a while... when this happens Arthur meets Emily Jones **_(Fem!AMERICAA!)_** and they fall deeply in love... then they have wild coitus/lovemaking/fornication *ahempardonme* and this gets Emily PREGNANT with Peter Kirkland Arthur's son** (Sealand!)** - **

**So initially the story is about the journey of schizophrenic Field Marshal Arthur Kirkland going to escape the country and Oliver to go to America to find Emily Jones and Peter Kirkland to live a new life... but he has to avoid Oliver Kirkland and confront his 'inner demons' before he can leave. So essentially it's a happy ending...**

**There! Review! Favourite! Follow! :D Small tiny things that make my day amazing! Please and Thankyou beautiful creatures 3 *flowers and affection***

**- Pockethero **


End file.
